Liars make stories twist, characters clash, and readers question everything. But not all liars are created equal. If you're writing one, ask yourself: what kind of liar are they? Because there’s more than one way to deceive…
Many types of liars
the one where you know they are lying
the one where you never know that they are lying
the one who lies about everything
the one who lies to themself
Writing Tips:
Know why they lie
Every liar has a reason. Is it survival, manipulation, shame, love, power, or habit? Understanding their motive helps you shape their behavior and emotional responses.
Use subtext and contradictions
Liars rarely say "I'm lying." Instead, they contradict themselves, dodge questions, or over-explain. Let their words and actions subtly clash.
Let the lie shape the plot
A good lie should ripple through the story. It creates misunderstandings, false alliances, and dramatic irony. Use it to mislead characters and readers.
Use silence
Sometimes the most powerful lie is omission. What a character doesn’t say can be just as revealing as what they do.
Play with perspective
Use unreliable narrators or shifting POVs to blur the line between truth and fiction. This keeps readers guessing and deepens the mystery.
Show consequences
How are characters reacting to someone lying to them? What happens if people find out a character lied?
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Emotional Walls Your Character Has Built (And What Might Finally Break Them)
(How your character defends their soft core and what could shatter it) Because protection becomes prison real fast.
✶ Sarcasm as armor. (Break it with someone who laughs gently, not mockingly.)
✶ Hyper-independence. (Break it with someone who shows up even when they’re told not to.)
✶ Stoicism. (Break it with a safe space to fall apart.)
✶ Flirting to avoid intimacy. (Break it with real vulnerability they didn’t see coming.)
✶ Ghosting everyone. (Break it with someone who won’t take silence as an answer.)
✶ Lying for convenience. (Break it with someone who sees through them but stays anyway.)
✶ Avoiding touch. (Break it with accidental, gentle contact that feels like home.)
✶ Oversharing meaningless things to hide real depth. (Break it with someone who asks the second question.)
✶ Overworking. (Break it with forced stillness and the terrifying sound of their own thoughts.)
✶ Pretending not to care. (Break it with a loss they can’t fake their way through.)
✶ Avoiding mirrors. (Break it with a quiet compliment that hits too hard.)
✶ Turning every conversation into a joke. (Break it with someone who doesn’t laugh.)
✶ Being everyone’s helper. (Break it when someone asks what they need, and waits for an answer.)
✶ Constantly saying “I’m fine.” (Break it when they finally scream that they’re not.)
✶ Running. Always running. (Break it with someone who doesn’t chase, but doesn’t leave, either.)
✶ Intellectualizing every feeling. (Break it with raw, messy emotion they can’t logic away.)
✶ Trying to be the strong one. (Break it when someone sees the weight they’re carrying, and offers to help.)
✶ Hiding behind success. (Break it when they succeed and still feel empty.)
✶ Avoiding conflict at all costs. (Break it when silence causes more pain than the truth.)
✶ Focusing on everyone else’s healing but their own. (Break it when they hit emotional burnout.)
Unhealed Wounds Your Character Pretends Are Just “Personality Traits”
These are the things your character claims are just “how they are” but really, they’re bleeding all over everyone and calling it a vibe.
╰ They say they're "independent."
Translation: They don’t trust anyone to stay.
They learned early that needing people = disappointment. So now they call it “being self-sufficient” like it’s some shiny badge of honor. (Mostly to cover up how lonely they are.)
╰ They say they're "laid-back."
Translation: They stopped believing their wants mattered.
They'll eat anywhere. Do anything. Agree with everyone. Not because they're chill, but because the fight got beaten out of them a long time ago.
╰ They say they're "a perfectionist."
Translation: They believe mistakes make them unlovable.
Every typo. Every bad hair day. Every misstep feels like proof that they’re worthless. So they polish and polish and polish... until there’s nothing real left.
╰ They say they're "private."
Translation: They’re terrified of being judged—or worse, pitied.
Walls on walls on walls. They joke about being “mysterious” while desperately hoping no one gets close enough to see the mess behind the curtain.
╰ They say they're "ambitious."
Translation: They think achieving enough will finally make the emptiness go away.
If they can just get the promotion, the award, the validation—then maybe they’ll finally outrun the feeling that they’re fundamentally broken. (It never works.)
╰ They say they're "good at moving on."
Translation: They’re world-class at repression.
They’ll cut people out. Bury heartbreak. Pretend it never happened. And then wonder why they wake up at 3 a.m. feeling like they're suffocating.
╰ They say they're "logical."
Translation: They’re terrified of their own feelings.
Emotions? Messy. Dangerous. Uncontrollable. So they intellectualize everything to avoid feeling anything real. They call it rationality. (It's fear.)
╰ They say they're "loyal to a fault."
Translation: They mistake abandonment for loyalty.
They stay too long. Forgive too much. Invest in people who treat them like an afterthought, because they think walking away makes them "just as bad."
╰ They say they're "resilient."
Translation: They don't know how to ask for help without feeling like a burden.
They wear every bruise like a trophy. They survive things they should never have had to survive. And they call it strength. (But really? It's exhaustion wearing a cape.)
★ abstract: it’s ‘70s chicago and stack’s a single man on the prowl for his match. you’re about to give him more than he bargained for
content disclosure: smut, technical age gap, black!reader, fem!reader x stack, language, exposition chapter, canon deviation, ongoing series
author’s note: happy friday! part two is here! this part is longer than part one, but still what i would consider short. please let me know if longer is better, i'm open to keeping it this length or taking a little longer to write for longer chapters. in the words of pearline, let's see where the night takes us
word count: 1.7k
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Stack had been on the run for the last year or two, but not from trouble. From Mary (who more than qualified as trouble in her own right). Forty years deteriorated the foundation of their love, chipping away at all of the good and leaving behind a thick layer of resentment. They both knew it was over long before Stack had the courage to end it, putting them out of the misery of obligation. Everything unraveled when they were squatting in New York, and Stack had disappeared right into the Chicago air before things could get worse. He knew she was feeling it too, and yet she protested the break up so ardently that he almost recanted. He just couldn’t spend the rest of eternity with someone simply because he was bound to.
But trouble had its way of finding him, so much so that he should be used to it by now. Chicago was meant to be a pit stop on the way further out west until he met you. What was meant to be his last day in town, a celebratory send off, led him right to the bar you work at. It smelled of whiskey and sandalwood every time he walked in, and it took him a few times before realizing the sandalwood was wafting from you. Some oil he’d watch you reapply when you had a break from overbearing customers, once behind your ears and twice down your neck and chest. Cinnamon, the smoky spice of the sandalwood, and just enough rose to make it extra sweet. It made it hard for him to control himself around you— he already wanted to take a bite out of your neck, to taste the intoxicating flavor of your blood. Exposing himself to a bar full of people was a bit more trouble than he could chew, so he left you alone. Sort of.
Stack would’ve kept a respectable distance for as long as he lingered in Chicago until you made a move on him. He knew that you’d kept your eye on him every time he moseyed on into the bar, hat tilted and glasses obscuring the white film over his eyes. Without fail, he was dressed to the nines, suave and sexy with his signature touch of carmine. A cigarette or cigar wedged between his lips, smoke puffing out in circles around him. Stack knows how to command a room, and you were more than ready to give him your attention.
You were touchy with him, and that’s when he knew it wasn’t all in his head. Other customers had strictly professional interactions with you, and oftentimes you wouldn’t even bother looking at them; but with Stack, you came to life. Asking him questions about his life, playfully pushing at his arm if he cracked a joke, batting your doe eyes at him when handing him his drink (that you always made a little stronger than your boss would allow). The safe, respectable distance didn’t seem like something you wanted— and Stack always had a weakness for pretty women like you. Soft, sultry, and sanguine. Dark, thick hair pressed and flipped just like you saw Donna Summer do. It framed your face beautifully, the dark hue of your mane a breathtaking complement to your rich brown skin. A voice that he could loop on a record until his eardrums popped. Hips that he couldn’t help but imagine how they’d feel under his palms, how reactive you’d be to his touch. He could keep his mind running from dusk to dawn on the thought of you alone.
But Stack never ever considered falling for a human. For so long, he didn’t have to. Mary was meant to be his forever. The idea of starting fresh was mentally exhausting. His soul was nearly eighty-three years old, and he felt too old to go back to the drawing board. It was all too much, he thought, and a human was out of the question. Stack loves hard and falling in love with someone who’s still plagued by their biological clock was no different from self harm. He didn’t want to turn someone into a vampire with the intention of spending eternity together, because even he knew now that forever is fickle.
“Do it,” you moaned out, sensing his hesitation. “Bite me.”
The events of last night kept replaying as he sat in his living room, the low rumble of the radio heard from the next room over. Bite me? How had you figure it out? Had you been following him, had you seen him feed before? A chill ran through him at the perversion. Smoke was right; Stack had no idea how to watch his own back.
After your unexpected request, Stack kept fucking you like he hadn’t heard you. There was no way he could comply without investigating further. Up until then, you were a sexy stranger who he denied himself the pleasure of having. All of the gaps in his knowledge of you were empty, blank and waiting to be filled in. No one in his forty years of vampirism has ever sought him out, much less asking to be bitten. He didn’t even know what he wanted to ask you.
The bar you work at was opening soon, and he knew well enough that you’d be working. Probably wearing something to teasingly remind him of the position you were in just last night. A dress that was a bit too tight against your breasts, giving him the perfect view to admire. You were certainly gonna try to distract him tonight.
There was only one thing on your mind, and that was changing Stack’s. A brief look of bewilderment crossed his eyes when told him to bite you, but he pretended he heard no such demand since it was so outlandish. Who in their right mind would subscribe to such endless torment of bloodlust and bloodshed? If he had known…
“The usual?” You appear in front of him just as pretty as you wanna be. Powder blue shadow dusting your eyelids and a deep brown gloss to your lips. Your cheeks blushed with an orangish intensity that makes you look sun-kissed even indoors in the dim lighting. Simply put, you look absolutely stunning.
Stack gaps at you for a moment, stealing his eyes away from you to the row of liquor behind you the second he felt he was over doing it. He nods, “Ice cold beer.”
The beers were stored in the fridge right next to the bartop Stack was leaning over, effectively cutting your interaction time in half. Sigh. “I miss when you’d let me make you somethin’. Now, you’re running off with your drink before I can really talk to you.”
“And what would you need to really talk to me about?”
You popped the lid off the bottle, handing it over without pulling your hand away. “Maybe about how you’re acting like you didn’t hear me last night.”
His heart dropped to his stomach as you smirked at him, removing your hand from his embrace to grab his check to close his tab. Doing this so publicly, right in the open of the densely populated venue. Anyone could be listening, and you didn’t seem to care. You trusted the tranquil hum of your voice beneath the low chaos of the partygoers, and your eye contact coaxed the words from your lips to his ears. The molasses of your voice was dripping straight to his cock, and he already knew he was in dangerous territory.
If he wasn’t careful, he’d surrender to you entirely. His shoulders squared back as he found his confidence once more, taking the reins in his hands. “Alright, I’ll tell you what; if you still want this shit after I tell you everythin’ that come with it, I’ll turn you. But there’s a catch.”
You shrugged, wiping your hands on the tops of your thighs. “Figured as much.”
He pulled the toothpick out his mouth and fixed it between his fingers, leaning closer to you like his next words were a secret. “I’ll only give up the goods on dates, baby. You gon’ have to let me take you out on the town if you want me to talk.”
“Dates. You want… dates?”
“Classy. Romantic. Courtship,” He cleared his throat, looking away from you with a heavy sigh. “Or were you really just tryna fuck ‘n duck?”
A part of him couldn’t help but be insecure about his rustiness. Back in his day, he had game like no other. There was no doubt about it. But being in a committed relationship for nearly half a century had knocked his ego down more than a few notches. Sharing his body with someone hadn’t been something casual for him since before integration, and now that he was back at it, the game was different. He wanted to be crystal clear about his intentions.
You purse your lips, trying to read the poker face Stack puts on. Dating in exchange for the gift. It was messy, risking your heart in the hands of someone so indestructible. He could make you genuinely fall if you’re not careful, and love is too messy to get caught up in. Not now. As long as he keeps to his end of the bargain, you’ll be right on track according to schedule. “So when do we start?”
“There’s no turning back, you know.”
Whether he meant from his offer or from eternal life, you. weren’t sure. But either way, your answer was the same. “Good.” He was trying to scare you but it wouldn’t work. You’d heard plenty of stories, knew as much of the downsides as all of the good. Where others flinched with fear, your interest was piqued. The world you grew up in was too harsh to fear death. No one believed when you said there are fates worse than death, but you’d laid witness to it. So whatever Stack was trying to shield you from couldn’t be worse than what you’d already seen.
Read your work again. You see: does, goes, places, etc. Red, blue, ugly, smelly. Authors often take shortcuts when writing and while it gets the job done, it doesn't give the power that it should. Sometimes, the word count is sacrificed for the greater good.
He ran to get her
He lunged to steal her, or
He charged to catch her
Once you have that, maybe you're still not writing creative. You can use synonyms, it's the easiest path to do. Yet, you can rephrase for a more unique sentence. Walk =/ strut. Do =/ act.
It smelled of decaying bodies
Your smell soured of death's traces, or
The air soured of death's traces
Describing things doesn't need to be flat either. It's a struggle to describe certain things—hair, eyes, height, posture, rooms, walls, etc.
The room was extremely red
The room drowns her with fever-inducing red, or
Every surface imaginable bleeds my eyes with red
This can easily become an overbearing way to attempt to reach the word count. However, it does help in situations where the writing has been too flat for too long and the narrator needs to show that this thing holds significance.
The Best Friend Who Knows Too Much
╰ They’ve been friends since primary school. They’ve seen each other in braces, bad haircuts, and full-on emotional breakdowns over math tests. Now they’re teenagers. And things are… shifting. Lingering looks. Accidental touches. One of them falls first. The other realizes way too late.
Study Buddies and Something More
╰ They’ve always studied together. Always. Every test, every exam season, every quiet library moment. But this time, they’re sitting a little closer. Laughing a little longer. And when one of them falls asleep mid-flashcard session, the other catches themselves staring way too long.
“Fake Dating” for Prom... but Make It Personal
╰ They agree to fake date to make someone else jealous (obviously). They already act couple-y, so it’s no big deal. But after the third “pretend” hand-hold and one too many “fake” compliments, something real breaks through. And neither one knows how to put it back.
Late-Night Phone Calls & Secret Sharing
╰ It starts as a joke “Call me if you’re dying during the homework.” But then the calls keep happening. 1AM convos about dreams, fears, their futures. The line between “friend” and “something else” starts blurring somewhere between midnight and sunrise.
One-Bed Trope... But It’s a School Trip
╰ They get stuck sharing a room on a class trip (because of course they do). One bed. One shared blanket. And one realization that maybe this thing they’ve always had? It was never just friendship. Oops.
Locker Notes & Lingering Feelings
╰ They’ve always left each other dumb little notes in their lockers—jokes, doodles, inside references. But one day, one of them writes something real. And then pretends it was a joke. And the other one spends the whole day wondering if it meant more. (It did.)
The Protective Idiot
╰ He’s always looked out for her, scaring off bullies, sharing snacks, defending her in arguments. But lately, he’s not just protective, he’s possessive. And jealous. And confused. Because he doesn’t know when “you’re my best friend” turned into “you’re mine.”
The Moment They Realize Everyone Else Already Knows
╰ They’re best friends. Nothing more. Right? Right. Except literally everyone keeps asking when they’re finally going to get together. And they keep denying it… until one of them wonders why it stings every time the other one flirts with someone else.
The School Newspaper Love Confession (Oops)
╰ One writes an anonymous “love letter” for the Valentine’s edition of the school paper. It’s poetic. Personal. Honest. The other reads it. Knows immediately. Doesn’t say anything. Not yet. But their next conversation has a lot of weird, warm tension neither of them expected.
The Slow Burn to Absolute Devastation
╰ They’ve been friends forever. They almost kissed once. But they didn’t. Now one of them is dating someone else. The other one’s trying to be happy. But every moment together feels like a ghost of what could’ve been, until one of them breaks, and says, “It’s always been you.”
⇢ Emotional Timing ( When One Opens Up and the Other Isn’t Ready, Yet)
There’s something so devastatingly real about when characters miss each other, not physically, but emotionally. One’s finally ready to be honest, to be seen… and the other? Still hiding. Still pretending. That emotional dissonance creates a whole different kind of electricity: one rooted in vulnerability, silence, and the ache of almost.
“I trust you,” she said, voice low, eyes steady.
He looked at her, and for a second, he almost said it back. But then his smile cracked, soft and sad, and he looked away like the words were burning holes in his throat.
This isn’t the moment they fall into each other’s arms. This is the moment they could have. And those moments still haunt.
Use this when:
You want slow burn that hurts a little
Your characters are stubborn, scared, or emotionally constipated (bless them)
The closeness builds from not-quite-connecting, until one of them finally breaks
⇢ Silent Support ( When They Don’t Say It, But They Show It)
Sometimes the most romantic thing a character can do is just… be there. No speeches. No dramatic gestures. Just showing up, quiet, consistent, unwavering. The kind of person who notices when your laugh sounds tired.
He didn’t say anything when he found her curled up on the kitchen floor. He just sat next to her, their shoulders barely touching, and slid his hoodie off without a word. A minute later, she was wearing it. Five minutes later, she was breathing again.
This isn’t about grand declarations. It’s about the kind of love that doesn’t demand to be acknowledged. The kind that waits. That steadies. That speaks fluent silence.
Use this when:
You want to show love without “I love you”
You’re building intimacy through actions, not words
Your characters aren’t the touchy-feely, talk-it-out types
⇢ Emotional Whiplash (When Conflict Turns Intimate Too Fast)
This is the classic “We were fighting five seconds ago and now I want to kiss you” moment. Because nothing stirs up feelings like frustration mixed with closeness. When characters clash, especially if there’s emotional history or denial involved, it creates heat. They’re already fired up. Already in each other’s space. Now throw in a little vulnerability and BAM, you’ve got magnetic chaos.
“Why do you care what I do?” she snapped, stepping closer.
“Because I...” He bit the word back, jaw tight. His fists clenched at his sides.
She stared, breath caught in her throat.
“Because I do,” he said finally, quieter this time. “More than I should.”
Enemies to lovers. Friends to what even are we. That line-blurring, heart-pounding tension where the air is thick and the truth almost slips out, that’s where this trope lives (I Love It).
Use this when:
You want chaos, angst, and chemistry all at once
Your characters are in denial and one good argument away from kissing
You want something to break open and then immediately regret it
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